


built a home for you to burn

by agirlnamedfia



Category: Disney RPF, Jonas Brothers
Genre: Angst, Disappearance, Gen, Heavily Implied Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlnamedfia/pseuds/agirlnamedfia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody ever figures out what happens. No one really understands the what and the how and the why. Not even Nick. Maybe especially not Nick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	built a home for you to burn

At sixteen, Nick Jonas thought he was invincible. He talked to the press about 'keeping it real', about 'living like you're at the bottom, even if you're at the top', and he wasn't lying. He meant every word he said and he stuck to them. They all did, not letting the fame get to them, not giving in to the manic glitz and glamour of Los Angeles and Hollywood. They were living the dream but they didn't go strutting around, demanding impossible things and relentlessly drawing all attention towards themselves.

But in a different way, deep down, Nick felt invincible. This was their time. It was their wave and they were riding it so amazingly well, it almost felt like they were flying.

He didn't realize that riding a wave requires balance and support until he lost both, slipping and sliding and falling down endlessly, waiting for his head to smack into the ground.

***

Nobody ever figures out what happens. No one really understands the what and the how and the why. Not even Nick. Maybe especially not Nick. All he knows is that one morning he wakes up and Joe isn't there anymore.

It's not an exceptionally unusual morning, nothing out of place or weird going on. They're on a break of sorts, finishing up some last work on the new album, occasionally working on some tentative new stuff. Joe isn't around when Nick comes downstairs, but he could be running or getting some Starbucks or with Demi or, or, or. There are numerous possibilities, an endless list of places Joe could be and things Joe could be doing, so no one really thinks about it much. Not their mom, who's the most easily worried person on the planet, and not their dad, who's proclaimed again and again that he believes they are all adults and he trusts them to behave, that-means-you-too-Joseph. Not Kevin. Not even Nick.

It's not something he'll ever be able to forgive himself for.

Nick's been in tune with Joe for as long as he can remember. He can't remember how or when it happened, but it was like one day, they woke up and they were on the same wavelength. They'd finish each other's sentences, they'd have complicated conversations using their expressions only. They'd trade secrets in the dark, under the blankets, after lights out, whispers floating through the air, weaving from one bed to the other and back. They were Nick and Joe, Joe and Nick. One would always know what the other was thinking, and vice versa.

But the morning Joe disappears, Nick doesn't feel anything out of place, anything wrong. He has breakfast like he always does, he watches cartoons with Frankie like he always does, he strums his guitar in the studio like he always does. Nick's morning is like it always is, and afterwards, he can't forgive himself for not feeling something, for not instinctively _knowing_ something was going on with Joe.

It's not until lunch rolls by and the day stretches out into the long, hot afternoon that Kevin winds his way back up the stairs into the kitchen, Nick on his heels, making a beeline for the fridge. Kevin doesn't though; he stands in the hallway quietly, glancing inside the living room and the kitchen, straining to listen.

"Where's Joe?" he asks, his voice curious and Nick shrugs. _Shrugs_. Like it doesn't matter, like it's not important, like it's not the pinpoint moment where everything will go wrong and Nick's whole life will change, turn upside down, be ruined, be empty.

He makes himself a sandwich, sinks down in the couch and flips channels for a bit, while Kevin goes off...doing whatever he needs to be doing. Which is apparently searching the entire house, because he returns less than 10 minutes later, expression scrunched up. "He's not here."

Nick chews slowly and swallows, shrugging again. "Maybe he's with Demi?" It's not that out of the ordinary, he tells himself. Joe didn't need to do any album work today and sometimes he loses track of time. Okay, yes, it's unusual not to see him for the whole morning, but maybe he had plans and forgot to tell anyone. Hell, knowing Joe, it's entirely possible he made plans _this morning_ and forgot to tell anyone.

"I called her. She hasn't seen him. Did you see him this morning?"

Nick reviews mentally and shakes his head. "No," he replies slowly. "I haven't seen him since we went to bed last night." There's a quiet churning in his stomach, but Nick chooses to ignore it. It's _Joe_. He'll be out for a run or with Garbo and Lawless or out with their mom or. Something.

Kevin looks vaguely uncomfortable. "I feel. Should I call mom? I mean, it's weird but. I don't know."

Nick bites his lip, suppressing a smile at their own stupidity. "No, dude, don't call mom, she'll freak. You know who we should call? _Joe_."

Kevin stills for a moment and then he grins, laughing at himself. He's still shaking his head when he speed dials their brother and Nick chuckles quietly. They've gotten so used to tour, to being in each other's space constantly, it's like they've forgotten that there are other ways of communicating with each other and they do, in fact, have cell phones. Joe never goes anywhere without his anyhow, so he's bound to--

Nick stills when the James Bond theme song jangles from the kitchen, loud, tinny and jarring. His stomach clenches together for reasons unknown and Kevin's eyes are wide when they glance at each other. He thumbs off the call and disappears into the kitchen, returning with Joe's phone moments later. The display's still lit up, '1 missed call' flashing in Nick's eye.

Nick takes a deep breath and forces himself to remain calm. "So he left his phone. It's not a big deal, Kev, I'm sure he's fine. We're starting to act like Mom, overreacting like this."

Kevin's fingers clench around Joe's phone tighter but he relaxes after a moment and sinks down next to Nick in the couch, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. Nick glances at the clock, Kevin's eyes following his line of sight. 2:14PM.

"If he's not home in an hour, I'm calling Mom," Kevin says, tone defiant, daring Nick to say something.

Nick stays silent, nodding, fingers tangling with his dog tags, ignoring the worried churning in his stomach. His sandwich lies forgotten on a plate on the side table.

***

Nick still remembers when he realized what was going on. He can recall almost everything about that day with perfect clarity, but that moment, the second when the words _he's gone_ printed themselves in to his mind, icy-hot and burning, stands out with blinding, painful recollection. He's sitting on a stool in the kitchen, Kevin next to him. Their father's in his office, on the phone with who knows, and their mom's on the phone in the kitchen, eyes wide and voice high-pitched, calling everyone they know who might have seen Joe and can be discreet about it. She's tense, they all are. It's been almost 15 hours since any of them have seen him, but they're keeping it as calm and low-level as possible to protect Frankie, who's watching cartoons in the living room again. He's normally not allowed this much TV-time before dinner, Nick realizes briefly, and he probably feels like he's won the lottery.

Kevin's tense next to him, hands clenched around the tabletop, shoulders set. He's still cradling Joe's phone alongside his own, fingers thumbing the screen. His expression is tight, but Nick sees something like desperation underneath it, as if entering some sort of secret code into the phone will make this whole situation dissolve and Joe will just stumble in through the garden door, giggling high-pitchedly, covered in grass stains from some game -- Kickball, softball, pandaball, whatever.

His mom's just hung up the phone, mid-turn back to them, when the realization crashes down in Nick's head. He's gone. Joe's gone. Away. Missing.

_Gone_.

It's like all his breath is knocked out of him, lungs empty and straining, and Nick's left slumping forward, gasping for breath desperately, trying to unthink it, trying to forget the thought ever occurred to him, because it's not true, it can't be true, it won't be true, Nick won't let it be true. He _won't_. Kevin's hands curl around his shoulders protectively and his mother rushes forward with an apple, a juice box and Nick's OmniPod clutched into her hands. Nick doesn't bother telling her it's not him, it's not his diabetes. He's hunched over the kitchen island, head pounding, ears ringing, eyes squeezed tightly shut and fingers clenched into fists, mind racing frantically.

_Gone_.

Kevin's fingers rub soothingly down Nick's spine, up and down in a set motion, pressing down just enough so Nick syncs his breathing with them without realizing. He can't hear anything over the ringing in his ears, not his own gasping breaths, not Kevin's soothing murmurs, not his mom's frantic questions.

Because Nick can't unthink anything and he can't pretend he doesn't know and he can't force something to be untrue.

Because his brother is gone and Nick Jonas is not invincible.

***

They can't keep it from Frankie. They can't keep it from anyone really, not from Frankie, not from their family, not from their friends, not from the press. They call the cops, they call everyone they can call and the news leaks soon. Too soon, but at least not so soon that their little brother finds out from TV instead of his parents.

Frankie's 9. He doesn't understand, not entirely, how someone can just disappear into thin air. He doesn't understand why no one's seen Joe, isn't Joe famous, wouldn't people recognize him? Doesn't Joe live in the same house as them, how come they haven't seen him? But he tries. Nick can tell that he tries the best he can to be strong and to hold on and be brave. That's what their mother tells them in a family meeting that night, throat tight and voice hoarse. They're a family and they're in this together and they have to try to be strong for each other while they find out what happened and where Joe has gone. Nick can hear the underlying, hidden note of panic and fear in her voice, feel her shoulders trembling when he wraps his arms around her later on. He squeezes her as hard as he can manage and tries to pretend he's not shaking himself, fingers slipping over her shoulder blades.

When the press finds out, it's pandemonium. Headlines, talk shows, radio interviews, their phones ringing off the hook until even Kevin, the most even-tempered person Nick knows, throws his phone against the wall with a shout of frustration and stalks off, his face twisted with more emotions than Nick can identify. Nick stands there, rooted to the ground, until Frankie sneaks into the hallway, picks up the pieces and quietly disposes of them. He grabs Nick by the hand and drags him to his bedroom, pushing him down on the Transformers comforter and curling into him. Frankie's shoulders are shaking and Nick wraps his arms around his little brother tightly, trying to murmur soothing words through the tightness in his throat, the swirling in his head.

It's like their family is collectively walking on eggshells, holding their breath. Nick feels like he's suspended in time, because all he does all day is wait. He gets up, prays, has breakfast, waits, has lunch, waits, has dinner, waits, prays and goes to bed. Police are in and out the first few days, endless streams of questions about Joe: What was he wearing? When did you last see him? Why would he leave? Would he leave? Where would he go? Has he been threatened lately? When did you last see him? Do you think he left of his own free will? Can you think of anyone who might hurt him? Where would he go, if he did leave? Nick answers all of them over and over and over again, they all do, until his eyes are hurting and his brain is hazy with I don't knows.

Every door opening makes him tense, every ring of a phone makes him flinch. People come over to help with the house, with the search, with Nick doesn't even know what else. Selena, Demi, David, Chelsea, Miley, Nicole, even Zac on one occasion, grasping Kevin's shoulders tightly and pressing their foreheads together, his hands tangling with both Kevin and Danielle's. Nick's pretty sure he's not supposed to see that part, so he turns away, heads back down the stairs, where their mother is poring over another list the police provided her with. People that might, people that could, reasons Joe might, places Joe might. Nick loses track after the sixth one, the letters dancing in front of his eyes, blurry and uncertain, a mirror of everything they don't know about their brother, his whereabouts and his future.

He lets himself be tugged outside by Demi, by David, by Miley. A combination thereof. They insist it's not good for him to stay indoors all day, but Nick can't force himself to do something so mundane as getting a coffee or a smoothie. Not now. Nick's mechanical in his life, doing what needs to be done, doing what he knows he can and should do, putting whatever can wait on hold. And holding on for dear life aside from that, trying not to think of what's missing, trying not to think about the gaping hole in their family right now, jagged edges scraping against all of them. He doesn't think about Joe's messy bedroom, clothes strewn at random across the room after the cops searched it. The door's closed now, it's always closed because none of them can bear to see it open, but Nick knows he's not the only one that sometimes lingers at it, fingers dancing over the uneven wood in uncertainty, fear, despair.

He doesn't think about Frankie looking at him with wide, serious and far-too-old eyes, asking if they know anything new, if Joe's coming back, if anyone is ever going to tell him anything. Nick strokes a hand through Frankie's curls and tells him they're only trying to protect him, pretends he doesn't see the dirty and angry glare Frankie gives him in response. In some ways, Nick is jealous, wishing someone would protect him too.

He doesn't think about the late nights when his mom's muffled crying echoes through the empty hallways, he doesn't think about the way Frankie crawls into Kevin's bed night after night, eyes wide with fear and insecurity. He doesn't think about the nightmares he wakes up from almost every night, mouth open in a soundless shout, visions of Joe dancing in front of his eyes. Joe crying, Joe shouting, Joe bleeding, Joe falling, Joe reaching out, Joe running away, Joe's face taut with terror, pain, anger, accusation, fear. Every emotion dances in front of Nick's eyes until he can't separate between them anymore and all he sees in his mind's eye is Joe Joe Joe. He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his fingernails into his palm hard enough to draw blood and he doesn't think about it. He doesn't think about much of anything anymore.

***

It's been almost 5 months when Nick feels a shift. He can't put his finger on what it is, exactly, but he wakes up one morning and suddenly he knows that they're not searching for Joe anymore. They're searching for Joe's body.

He barely makes it to the bathroom before retching violently, emptying the contents of his stomach in the toilet. When he's no longer heaving, Nick crawls back into his bed, turning his back to the door, and numbly ignores everyone and anyone that comes into his room.

***

Realistically, Nick knows time passes. It's a universal fact that he knows and respects. Except after Joe, Nick feels like time stops, at least for him. The first few months are the hardest of Nick's life, but at the same time they're also the easiest. Because Nick has something to do; something to focus on, something to distract him from all the things he doesn't think about. Even if all he's doing is waiting and hoping and praying, it's something to do.

When they reach 6 months, the chief of police comes over to the house to explain to them that they're putting the investigation on semi-active. Through the fog of shock and panic, Nick is vaguely surprised it's taken them this long when to the best of his knowledge, there's never been any actual leads aside from a truckload of anonymous call-ins. It's like Joe just vanished into thin air, dissolved into molecules, whirling around them.

They still check every last one of the tips they receive, the chief assures them, and they will continue to do so, but his department doesn't have the resources to put more men on a case that's... He trails off, face flushing, and they all look away, the _that's not going to be solved_ unsaid but implied and heard by all, hanging heavily in the air.

Their dad immediately starts shouting, face red and laced with anger and voice loud enough to be heard down the street, whereas their mother hunches in on herself with a muffled sob, arms clasped around her midsection, hands trembling. Kevin's got his head buried in Danielle's embrace, hands clenched around her dress tightly enough to turn the knuckles white. Frankie's still on his chair, face crumpled and confused, eyes shining with tears and Nick distantly thinks someone should comfort him, should help his little brother handle these things he shouldn't have to yet, but he's rooted to the spot, thoughts whited out.

He'd known. He'd known that they weren't looking for. That Joe wasn't-- Nick had known, is the thing. But now that it's here, now that someone's actually said it, even if they didn't actually say the words, Nick feels like his brain is short-circuiting, a constant _no no no no no nononono_ looping through his thoughts. His vision is hazy, his teeth clenched together so tightly it hurts when he rises up silently from his chair, ignoring everyone's looks, stumbling his way into the yard. He slams the door closed behind him, blindly making his way away from the house, the people in it, the memories in it, the knowledge in it, trying to lose himself because if he's lost, maybe he won't have to remember.

After that, Nick doesn't feel like time runs normally for him anymore. He doesn't have anything to do, so he simply doesn't. He doesn't wait or hope or pray, because he doesn't see the point of it. It didn't make any difference whatsoever before, he sees no reason why it would suddenly work now. He knows Kevin still prays, that their parents and Frankie still believe in God and pray for Joe's return, or at least his safety and peace of mind. Nick doesn't think God hears him anymore.

David, Chelsea, Demi, they still come by to see him, to see Kevin. They still talk to him and sit with him and try to talk him into going out, doing things. Nick doesn't take them up on it. One day, Demi enters the house with an expression part determined and part scared, sitting Nick down at the piano with a sheaf of papers scribbled full of notes and lyrics. Even at first glance, Nick can tell it's a good melody, sound and clear, and for the first time in months, he's almost tempted to play. Except then his eyes run over the lyrics and it's clear the song is about Joe, about missing chances and lost love and Nick feels bile rise in his throat, stumbling away from the piano blindly, eyes clenched closed, one fist pressed against his mouth to stop a sob from coming out. Demi doesn't come by anymore after that, and gradually, neither do the others, visitors slowing down to a trickle.

Life goes on, with or without Joe, for everybody except for Nick. Frankie starts up school again. Their dad has meetings. They decide on dissolving the Jonas Brothers one painful afternoon with Disney. Nick sits on his chair, eyes shuttered and his gaze fixed on the wall. He doesn't say anything, not to his father or Kevin or the Disney officials. He avoids his parents, avoids Kevin, avoids the world. He can't avoid Joe, though, memories and ideas clinging to the fabric of his life relentlessly, until Nick feels like he's constantly flinching, constantly gasping for breath, being confronted with something he doesn't have anymore.

He's the first one to cross the invisible barrier into Joe's room, closing the door behind him and sinking down on the bed, breathing heavily, eyes gazing around the room. There's a picture of him and Joe stuck in the side of the mirror and the closet door is still open. Joe's favourite pyjamas are in a heap at the foot of the bed and there's an open case for Halo on the Xbox that's still plugged into Joe's TV. Nick's head feels like it's swimming, his eyes wide and his breath coming in short shuddering gasps. It hurts, being in here, it hurts a lot, more than he'd expected it to. He's not really sure what he'd expected to happen but right now, Nick feels like his skin is being torn clean off his body, like his chest is being ripped open, and when he looks down on himself, he's numbly surprised there's no blood. There should be blood, he thinks; with pain like this, there should be blood.

It's only after he's been in Joe's room half an hour, biting down on his lip until the bitter tang of blood floods his mouth, breathing still ragged, that Nick realizes it's the most alive he's felt since Joe disappeared.

***

Eight months after Joe leaves, their parents want to sell the house. Nick's not surprised, it's been a while coming. He's seen it in the hunched shoulders when any of them pass Joe's room, the clench of a fist, the grinding of a jaw. Kevin and Danielle get engaged and a flash of vague happiness pierces through the fog, bright enough for Nick to be able to dreg up genuine congratulations and a smile. They leave the house, moving in together, and Nick hums "and then there were two" under his breath before locking himself back in Joe's room.

When their mom and dad announce their plans to sell the house, the whole family has gathered in the living room. His parents are holding hands and Nick can see his dad squeezing his mother's hand gently when she sucks in a laboured breath, her voice breaking off at the explanation. It's hardly necessary to explain, though, because they all understand. They've all lived in the house, the constant pain of not knowing, the ghost of Joe wandering through the halls and the rooms of this house, memories clinging to every piece of furniture like glue. They all understand and they all agree.

All except for Nick.

Nick, who's sleeping in Joe's bed and showering in Joe's bathroom, when he bothers to shower at all. Nick, who's eating in Joe's room, who's living in Joe's room. Nick, who depends on Joe's possessions and Joe's memories to feel things he's forgotten how to on his own, who feels like he hasn't been able to function for the past months. Nick, who can't even remember how his life used to be, who doesn't recall shows and sets and sound checks, doesn't remember much besides the sharp sting and painful bloom of memories and the numbness of everything else.

He fights them tooth and nail, anger blossoming out in his flushed expression and harsh tone. His mom begs him to come with them, his dad orders him to let go. It's nothing new, Nick's been having this same discussion over and over again with everyone he's talked to in the last months. He could probably argue it in his sleep, except for how he neither argues nor sleeps anymore.

In the end, they have a screaming match, shouting at each other until Nick's voice is hoarse and painful from overusing it after so much silence. He refuses point blank to leave, locking himself into Joe's room, the harsh click of the lock separating him from his family with a resounding finality. He leans against the inside of the door, arms wrapped around his legs, head resting on his knees. There's a slide and a thud and Nick can tell Kevin is on the other side of the door from the pattern of breathing alone. He doesn't speak up, though, and Kevin doesn't say anything either. The two of them remain suspended in that same position until Danielle's murmuring voice draws Kevin away from him and Nick's alone again, palms pressed against his temples, eyes stinging. The silence of Joe's room suddenly seems oppressive.

***

On the one-year-anniversary of Joe's disappearance, Nick wakes up alone. The house is empty now, his parents and brothers gone elsewhere. He knows they're all together, probably exchanging worried looks over his absence. His mother had called him last week, told him they were going to church together and his presence was required. She hadn't had to explain why, Nick had known. He'd made vague affirmative noises, but he'd already known back then that that day, this day, wasn't a day he would go anywhere.

He's tempted to stay in bed the whole day, spend the hours under the covers, just him and Joe and his memories, but it doesn't feel right. There's an itch of something under Nick's skin, a sense of dreading and anticipation, of possibility. Nick doesn't think he has much left to lose, but somehow staying in bed feels like letting something pass him by.

The bed squeaks when he drags himself up, planting his feet on the carpet and taking a moment to steady himself, will away the dizziness that's pretty much his constant companion now. Nick doesn't eat properly, he's well aware, only just enough to keep him going, keep him from crashing. It's not like he needs energy for anything more, he rationalizes with himself, so it's just another element in a long line of things that should matter, but don't.

The house is quiet when he wanders downstairs, feet dragging on the dirty carpet. There's crumbs and dust and hair everywhere, evidence of neglect, but Nick doesn't see. Or bother to see. His eyes are fixed on the garden door and the garden behind it. There's a small clearing somewhere at the back, he hasn't been there in months but he knows where it is, and it's where he's going now.

When Joe didn't come back, Nick gave up on God. He took off his ring and he stopped praying and at first he still went to church with his parents but after a while, he didn't even do that anymore. There was no use to it, clearly God wouldn't bring Joe back and He'd been the one to take Joe away in the first place. Why bother?

But it's been a year. Twelve months, fifty-two weeks, 365 days and Nick is hurting and aching and burning still. Nick is desperate.

It's quiet when he sinks down on the grass cross-legged, angling his gaze at his linked hands and swallowing heavily, trying to ignore the heaviness that's already settling in his throat. There are birds chirping and the early morning dew is seeping through the bottom of his pyjama pants. It takes Nick a while to come up with words and his voice is rough with lack of use when he starts.

"I know--" he clears his throat and tries again, "I know I haven't been as good a follower as I can be lately. I know that I've probably disappointed You. I'm truly sorry for that. It's just that it's-- It's been hard." He pauses, struggling to keep his voice under control. "It's been hard living here, being here without... without Joe." His voice is nothing but a whisper on the name and Nick squeezes his eyes shut, clenching his hands together, nails biting in the palm of his hands.

"I don't know if You really are as kind and benevolent as you seem, I don't know if You still listen to those of us that have... given up, but. But if you do," Nick murmurs, "I just."

His shoulders slump a little and Nick's voice breaks when he continues. "I miss him," he says hoarsely, looking up from the ground to the sky, desperately trying to find a sign, a signal, _something_. "I miss him so much it hurts and it just doesn't stop hurting and I can't. I can't make it stop. And I know this is selfish and that this is not what You stand for but," Nick looks down again, voice hoarse and cracking, vision swimming. "But it hurts so much and I need Your help. I don't want to hurt anymore. Please. Please, make it stop."

His shoulders are shaking, tears falling over his cheeks, and Nick draws his knees up to his chest, rocking back an forth with his arms clenched around them. "Bring him back. _Please_ I'm begging You, I can't. Please. I can't do this without Joe, I can't. I need him, I need him here with me and I need for it to stop hurting, so please, _please_ , I just. I need You to--"

His voice breaks and Nick feels a wet heat blooming into his throat, tears running down his cheek, chest shuddering, sobbing quietly. "Please," he begs hoarsely, voice barely audible. "Please. I need him."

Nick remains in that very spot while the sun rises and then starts sinking again, he hardly moves as the cool dampness of morning becomes the sharp heat of noon, which in turn becomes the warm blanket of afternoon and early evening. Until dusk falls and the temperatures start to chill, goose bumps appearing on his skin.

There's no answer.

***

Nick keeps the door of Joe's room locked and the key on a chain around his neck. Everyone knows it, even though no one ever really mentions it or talks about it anymore. They tend to do that a lot when Joe's concerned. Nick's not sure what he would do if someone did question him, if someone latched onto his hand and said he was being stupid and ridiculous and he should stop it. Unlock the door, hand the key over, let go, it's been _more than a year_ , Nick. He doesn't like to think about it.

It's not a small key, but it's not excessively big either. It's normal-sized, silvery and Nick buys a long necklace, long enough so that the key is under his clothes at all times. The necklace blends in with his dog tags and aside from his family, nobody seems to notice he's wearing it. Or if they do, they don't ask him about it. It's a slight weight against his chest and he never takes it off. He can't. Tries, a few times, but it feels a little like he's choking, falling, like he's swimming in an ocean by himself, waves crashing until he can't breathe anymore, can't move anymore. He doesn't try again after that. He doesn't take it out, but sometimes he'll palm it through whatever clothes he's wearing. Trace the shape, press against it, little indentations biting down into his skin.

He wanders the house silently, quietly, after his family has left. There are no blatant empty spots, they didn't take much, but the house seems to echo in a way it hadn't before nonetheless. Sometimes, if he squints, it's almost as if Joe's there with him, or so he tells himself. The first week he's alone, Nick barely leaves Joe's bed. The sheets are rumpled and Nick lies down on top of them, breathing in the stale air of the room, searching for a hint of his brother's scent even though there hasn't been any in months. The weight of loneliness feels like it's pinning him to the bed. It makes his eyes sting, his breath shudder, his head swim.

It takes him a month to change the sheets on Joe's bed and another to open up the window. David comes by sometimes, alone or with Selena or Chelsea in tow. They leave food in the fridge that Nick forces himself to eat, if only out of sheer necessity; and letters on the counter that Nick doesn't read. They corner him if he's up, coaxing him to talk and eat and think and feel, but they step back and leave quietly if Nick's in Joe's room. It's like an invisible barrier everyone's afraid to cross and Nick finds he's perfectly okay with that.

Sometimes, on a good day, Nick can make it through a whole day with nothing but a brief touch to the door with one hand, fingers of his other hand tightening around the necklace.

On bad days, Nick locks the door from the inside. He stands under Joe's shower, ignoring the fact that he can count his ribs and soaping up his hair with Joe's shampoo, the salty tang of tears on his lips, mixing with the rivulets of water winding their way down his face. Showers are the only time Nick allows himself to cry anymore, pretending there's nothing but water and soap running down his face. He pretends the redness in his eyes is shampoo and that his shoulders aren't shaking with withheld sobs. That he's leaning against the wall because the shower is slippery and not because he's not sure his legs are still able to support his weight. And when he sinks down on the cold and wet floor, shuddering, gasping out Joe's name brokenly, he pretends it's because he's tired, because he hasn't eaten yet, because because because.

Sometimes, he'll sit on the bench on the back patio, staring out into the garden. It's unkempt, not taken care of. Nick doesn't have the energy or the willpower to do it, though, and his eyes slide unseeing over the brittle-brown grass, the bruised flowers.

***

Once upon a time, Nick thought he was invincible. He was on top of things, he was on top of the world. He never said anything, didn't talk about it or mention it, but he felt like he, like _they_ were riding a wave so high and so amazing, it almost felt like they were flying.

He knows better now.


End file.
